I received some concerned stares. So to improve my situation, I said: “I thought that’d be obvious.”

Apparently, it wasn’t obvious. But we continued with the game.

I think some people see me in a different light now.

But I would like to have a chance to explain myself: I am not attracted to fourty-five-year-old men, I swearrr! I do, however, stand by the claim that men who have kept themselves in good shape look, well, the “manliest” at age fourty-five. For the following reasons.

Save me, doctor #ineedhelp

Also: suits. For realz.

Imagine if not all superheroes were gorgeous. Would people still want them to save them? (Don’t answer that. I’m not sure what I’m talking about.)

So, judge me all you want, but I’ve had this opinion since I was fifteen and there’s no swaying me.

One day, my dad came home having made the decision that our entire family would go through a four year Bollywood craze. So we did.

We watched Bollywood films, we listened to Bollywood music – we sang Bollywood music, we danced to Bollywood music. We ate Indian food, went to Indian festivals, we even took a three week trip to India. My dad learned to play the tablas. All of us owned multiple traditional Indian outfits. I wore mine to school.

this was going to be my wedding someday.

And then, for whatever reason, it sort if stopped. We returned to being normal (*cough*) citizens who lead uninteresting, normal lives. (jk, that was the beginning of the baseball thing.)

However, since about a third of my childhood consisted largely of Bollywood, I have never been quite able to erase that from my being, leading us to my guilty pleasure:

Re-watching all the most awesomely choreographed and/or heart-breaking scenes from my favorite movies over and over again. By myself. Crying. Or singing. Or both.

(This post may or may not be inspired by one such episode.)

So, judge if you will, but for anyone who wants to join me, here is a short list of my all-time favorite Bollywood flicks:

Main Hoon Na

Kal Ho Na Ho

Kabhi Kushi Kabhi Gham

Just watch those three. Trust me.

And be sure to let me know when you’re having emotional breakdowns. :D

It is my last night before senior year, and I’m trying my best not to have a mini panic attack as I type. I want to share a last thing with you now, before I sink into the pit of despair (=stress) that will be my graduation paper.

I have been nominated by the lovely Pooja for what is called the “ecouraging thunder” award!

*hums “my favorite things” to self*

These are the rules:(copied straight out from her cool blog, hehe – ditto, dear :P)

When I was eleven, my teacher set us the assignment to write a short story every week. And of course, being the…special…child that I was, my first story was all about a nine-year-old boy who manages to get stuck on the ceiling during a particularly rough game of dodge-ball in gym class.

The boy’s name was Karl, and the story was a hit. I continued to write about Karl and his misadventures (always reading them out loud to my class-mates, because at age eleven one has no shame) for the following two years – until primary school ended. And then, as I started middle school, I was left staring into a void of non-readership, no one to write for. It was a dark two years of my life.

This may or may not be the cause of my incredibly unique fashion choices in that period, but let’s not dwell.

yes, brightly colored eye-shadow with no mascara was, sadly, one of them

Then, I discovered a new light: the school’s semi-annual magazine! With great relief, I poured my heart into a single article every six months, until recently, when even this could no longer quench my thirst for fame and recognition.

So I started Penny Shares Too Much, with the intention of slowly building up an audience that I can provide with tidbits for all eternity.

And now I sit here, quietly hoping that no one unfollows me for this blatent honesty.

sure, penny, tell yourself this

Actually, no, I really do hope that you enjoy what I write, and if anyone has opinions that will shock and offend me, hell, I’ll even be thrilled to see those in the comment section!

I suppose everyone writes for their own amusement to a certain extent, but don’t we all want our voice to be heard?

Muahahahaha my genius is reaching people! I have been nominated for le liebster award – again. And because I’m humble, I’m going to answer all the questions anyway!

Or, quite honestly, I’m answering them because I know how fun it is to stalk people’s liebster nominations. #alltheTMI

It’s all for your benefit. B)

Actually, I wasn’t even certain if I was nominated because someone (*Pooja*) didn’t make links in her post. But I’m now gratefully dancing around on my keyboard, because I get to exploit someone else’s creativity! Yayyy! An awesome three (or four, woahhh) cheers for the wonderfully weird brown girl!!!

Did you adopt? Did you buy from the pet-store? Did you get a kitten from your friend’s litter?

You see, my mother recently decided that we were going to finally get a cat. I say finally, because we have decided this at least four times in the last eight years, to very unspectacular results.

we own this book, and at age 12, i read the whole thing

This time doesn’t seem drastically different, because although we made up our minds as to how we were going to acquire a cat – we were going to adopt one – my mother has her heart set on getting a cat that also serves as interior decoration.

this would seem like the ideal solution (in fact, her comment on this picture was “actually, that’s beautiful”)

So, we got to searching every conceivable adopt-a-pet website for the most flawless animal we could find.

Not so difficult, you say? There are plenty of gorgeous cats, you say?

The problem was, my mother and I appear to have different tastes in cat.

Yes, because while I had previously believed my own preferred type of cat to be the universally appreciated one, I was apparently quite mistaken.

My choices were labelled “skinny”, “emaciated”, “ugly”, “scary”, “revolting”, “pitiful”, and my personal favorite: “depressed“. We wouldn’t want to get a cat in need of professional therapy, would we?

i feel like decision making would be simpler

Also, update: The cat can’t smell like a cat.

In other words, we probably won’t be getting a cat.

But we can always satisfy our longing for the feline creatures by consuming multiple hours of cat-videos on YouTube. And indeed, we have done this in the past.

i find it mildly concerning that not only is this an option, but ONE HOUR? #simslogic #underoroverstatement?

The best way to do this is by typing in “cute fluffy cat“, and then judging the fluffiness of the cats in question, while leaving insulting comments if the alleged “fluffy” cat is not fluffy enough.

that may or may not have happened…

Basically, I will most likely end up a crazy cat lady, while my mother goes through pages and pages of what she described as “a dating website for cats”, wishing she were a crazy cat lady.

I was just talking about how I seem to have travelled to a land of a different age (Ticino, no wifi, you may remember), but who would’ve thought that I would delve into yet another magical realm?

Now, perhaps some of you share my deep fascination with historical happenings, and even if you don’t, there must at least be a certain appreciation for the soldiers and the fighting of World War II (all wars, really).

Regardless; Last Christmas, I found myself watching the BBC series “Band of Brothers” (based on the book) as if my life depended on it. I finished it in one day, and then started right over and watched it all again. It was the first time I had really gotten into it, and there was no going back.

(For those who don’t know: “Band of Brothers” is about Easy Company, 506th Regiment, 101st Airborne in World War II. They were the guys who invaded the Normandy on D-Day, June 6th. For those who don’t know what that means: Wikipedia.)

I then proceeded to binge-watch every WWII movie I could find – Schindler’s List, The Pianist, Saving Private Ryan, and the like – and simultaneously consuming pages and pages of Wikipedia articles – basically just reading, watching, and crying all week. #timeofmylife

at one point i think i was actually crying while explaining to my brother why he absolutely had to do the same – he didn’t seem convinced…for some reason

Well, having just recently been exposed to “La Vita E Bella”, as well as having a surviving Jew visit our school and recount his experience of the war, I decided that a little mid-summer depression would be appropriate, which is what has gotten me where I am now.

I have started reading the book “Band of Brothers”.

And by “started”, I mean I’m half way through and I’ve cried twice, the rest of the time just basking in the bad-ass.

Being close to eighteen years old, this book is making a huge impression. It would at any age, really, but let me explain why:

Most of the enlisted men were only slightly older than all of my guy friends – some the same age – so after watching the series, all I could do in class was sit there, envisioning horrible, tragic deaths for all of my male classmates, bringing myself close to tears (all while in complete silence). I must have looked *mildly* insane, actually.

*look normal*

Reading the book is of course bringing all of these thoughts and emotions back.

So, the sun shines and the flowers bloom and I sit beside a sparkling lake, with mountains in the distance and happy, chattering people surrounding me.

While reading about the terrors of WWII.

And it’s AWESOME.

It brings these people all back to life, and it makes you realize how important all those individual men were, and at the same time, how small you, one person, really are. All of those young men – almost still children, really – deserve to be remembered.

Anywho, this has turned into a bit of a ramble, but I needed to share this with you. You get it, surely.